“Oh my God.”
“What?” Julian’s hot breath hits my neck, making me shiver.
“It’s a letter.” I fight back a squeal.
I waffle between reading and not reading the paper addressed to someone else, but curiosity wins. “My darling, Francesca. Aw! Stop! He calls her ‘darling.’” The secret romantic in me is already buzzing with anticipation, and I’ve only read three words.
“Let me have that.” He steals the paper straight from my hands.
“Hey!”
“At your current pace, we’ll be here all day while you swoon over ink on paper.”
“Excuse me for having a heart.” I attempt to snatch the letter back, only to have Julian trap my hand.
His heartbeat quickens beneath my palm, and I look up to find his eyes locked on our hands. They slowly drag away, stopping to linger on my lips before finally reaching my eyes.
His hand tightens around mine before he drops it altogether. I’m too stunned by everything to do much but listen as he picks up where I left off.
“It’s been three years since I last saw you, and while so much has changed, my love for you has never wavered. Our monthly letters keep me going despite the trials and tribulations I have been through to help turn this town into a suitable home for you.”
My bottom lip trembles.
Julian spares me a sideways glance before focusing back on the letter. “I have been working hard to earn your hand in marriage, although the path has not been the easiest. Building an entire town from nothing takes time, and I am afraid I am running out of it now that your father has started discussing marrying you off to another.”
I gasp. “What? How could the dad do that?”
“Because feminism wasn’t exactly a thing yet.”
“Ugh.” I shake my head hard enough to make my earrings rattle.
Julian keeps going. “I thought I had more time before he began entertaining other suitors, but I am fearful that he might make a decision before I have a chance to fight for your hand.”
I tap on the page. “What are you doing? Keep reading!”
His gaze flicks back over the paper. “I will stop at nothing to make you mine.”
The back of my neck tingles as his eyes lock on mine. We hold each other’s gaze for the briefest second, yet it feels like an eternity has passed before we break away.
“Once he sees all that I have done to make Lake Wisteria a town suitable for you, he will agree to my proposal. I am certain of it.”
“Couldn’t women get married without their father’s permission back then?” I ask.
“Probably not without serious repercussions.” Julian continues, “Our home is nearly complete. Although the process has taken me longer than I would have liked, my final plan is in motion.”
“The gazebo?” My voice hits a higher pitch than usual.
Julian nods. “You always dreamed of getting married below a gazebo similar to the one we met under, and I have plans to do that.”
My hand clenches around the material of my shirt, right above my aching heart. “He wanted to build her a gazebo.”
“Are you seriously going to cry over people you don’t know?”
“Of course not,” I sputter.
Julian mutters something to himself before wrapping up the final paragraph.
“I shall return for you in six months, once my affairs are in order and the house is complete. Until then, I ask that you do everything within your power to prevent your father from marrying you off to another man.”
I rub at my itchy eyes. “Why didn’t she run away with him?”
“And risk losing everything and everyone she cared about?”
“Sometimes people are worth the risk.”
He scoffs.
Ugh. Este hombre. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
He crosses his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the most risk-averse person I know, so it’s not like you’re going to be making decisions solely based on fuzzy feelings and your gut.” Which is exactly why he pushed me away and called me a distraction rather than acknowledge the truth.
His brows scrunch together. “I’m not risk-averse.”
“You obsess over probability statistics and make pro-andcon lists for everything.”
“That’s called making an informed decision. Perhaps you should try it sometime, given the current state of your life.”
“Screw you,” I hiss as I reach for the rolls. Berating myself over my life choices is one thing, but having Julian do the same feels like taking a knife to the chest.
His eyes widen. “Dahlia.”
“What?”
“I was joking, but clearly it wasn’t funny.”
I frown. Julian rarely admits when he is wrong, so to say I’m shocked is an understatement.
Groundbreaking.
I glare. He scowls. A tale as old as time.
He speaks first, which in itself is abnormal. “You’re right.”
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that? I think my brain malfunctioned for a split second.”
His frown deepens. “Don’t let this get to your head.”
“Are you kidding? I might get the words and today’s date tattooed across my forehead solely so you’re stuck staring at the reminder.”
He wipes a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I said anything.”
That makes two of us.
He rambles on without his usual inhibition. “I’m not a risk-taker. Never have been and probably never will be, but that doesn’t mean I have a right to judge people who are.”
“Then why do you?” The question slips out before I have a chance to think better of it.
“I’m jealous.”
I can’t find words to answer that in any language, so I lean against the table for support.
He runs his hands through his hair, ruffling the strands. “I wish I could be the type of person who doesn’t give a damn about probability statistics and worst-case scenarios, but that’s not who I am.”
My head tilts, along with my whole world. Julian and I don’t do feelings. Hell, we don’t do much talking either.
Arguing? Yes.
Teasing? Of course.
But sincere admissions? Abso-freaking-lutely not.
To be honest, it might be unnatural, but it is also kind of… nice?
Fuck me. My heart feels like Julian wrapped his ginormous hand around it and crushed it.
“As much fun as this has been…” I reach for the rolls again with shaky fingers, only for Julian to clasp his hand around my wrist.
“Wait.”
Blood pounding in my ears makes me second-guess what I heard. “What?”
“I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure how I keep my voice neutral as I ask, “Two apologies in one week? Are you dying or something?”
“Feels like it,” he grumbles.
“Well, figure out if that shit is contagious before you pass it on to someone else.” I attempt to pull my wrist free from his grasp, but his hold tightens.
“Apologies aren’t contagious, Dahlia.”
No, but feelings are, and I sure as hell don’t know what to expect if Julian keeps stepping up to be a decent man. I can deal with him being angry after spending most of our lives slinging insults at each other. But him maturely apologizing after hurting my feelings and admitting when he is wrong?